


Call it Chemistry

by mother_finch



Series: It's All in the Chemistry Series [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Welcome Back, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 11:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: Prompt: Is there a part 3 to your teacher!shoot fic in the works? If not, may I request it?





	Call it Chemistry

From every corner of every hall, the buzz of Halloween follows Sameen Shaw like a hive of insatiable hornets. Some students hum with excitement over hot parties and hot dates, while others lament over the perfect costume.  _The clock's ticking_ , Shaw thinks, slipping into her classroom on the west wing.  _There's— what?— a day or two left?_  She peers to her anatomical models and full-scale skeleton, all of which are decorated with some form of ghoulish attire. She sighs, tension dropping from her shoulders. Celebrating Halloween, or any holiday for that matter, had never been Shaw's cup of tea, but it wasn't her who put those decorations there.

_She'll be back soon_ , she says to herself, beginning to mindlessly shuffle papers into tidy piles.  _Back from Control's office with good news. It has to be good news, right?_

The weekend had been rough. Root, still shaken from the less than professional meeting with Wicker, was on edge _—_ troubled with the thought of having to report the incident. What to say, how to say it... would anyone even believe her? Shaw knew that Control would.  _Open, shut case_ , Shaw assured her,  _and then you won't have to think about it again_. Her words did little to settle Root's restless mind.

But now, as the minute hand skirts the fifty-nine minute mark, she can't be sure. The door opens, a sea of rambunctious students pouring in.  _No time to think about it now._

As the last stragglers skirt through the door with the ring of the bell, Shaw powers on the projector and watches the title screen appear: Functions of Skeletal Muscles. Below, an animation of tendons moving along a flexing and extending arm plays on repeat _—_ something Root added to, as she put it, 'liven up the presentation.'

_Crash!_

The class jumps at the metallic sound, and shouts begin to rise. Shaw remains unfazed, arms crossed as she stalks to the door, eyes peering through the window. One of her students, Lee Fusco, is pinned against a row of lockers, crimson blood gushing from his nose. Gritting his teeth, he throws his assailant off, draws his arm back, and swings. She can hear his knuckles connecting with the boy's face, then the smack of his back hitting the wall just outside the classroom. Students begin to get out of their seats, confused whispers speculating a fight.

"Chapter twenty-three, page one-eighty-six. Now," she growls, pushing through the door and sliding between the two students just as Lee winds his hand back a second time.

"Enough," she spits, putting her hands out as the second boy starts forward. She shoots him a death glare, recognizing the icy blue eyes and auburn hair.  _Devan Reese, third period._  "Detention, both of you."

"But-" her eyes harden on Devan, who stops. By now, classroom doors are cracked, curious eyes peeking through. Shaw lowers her arms, looking between the two.

"Lee. Class. Now," she seethes, then turns to Devan. "You too." She begins to walk past, but before she's clear, Lee makes one last jab. Spitting, his aim is a tad too low, spraying Shaw's hair. She stiffens immediately, eyes shut tight and nostrils flared.  _'Ooohs,'_  ripple through the hall. Opening her eyes slowly, she turns to him, watching as his eyes turn to saucers.

"Shi-"

"I'm calling both of your parents," she growls, eyes red hot.

"But I didn't-"

She snaps her deadly gaze to Devan, muscles quivering and hands shaking with rage. "From what I saw through that window _—_ " she points a dangerous finger to her door _—_ "you started this. Now go." Devan's eyes flare, lips parted with an argument on the tip of his tongue, but stops. Resignedly, he slumps off, and Lee sulks into Shaw's classroom with a last loathing look Devan's way. Peering up into the hall, she watches each door slam, students fearing detention.

With a sigh, she turns, head down and her hand at the door handle. High heel shoes scuff the tile floors, echoing along, and Shaw begins to brew.  _The next student I see in this hall is getting a week's worth of _—__

_Root_. Heels barely leaving the floor as she trudges along, skin a papery white, and eyes hollow. Shaw watches Root slowly drag herself to her class, dark brown tendrils of hair creating a curtain before her face. Shaw looks to the handle of her classroom door. Sighs.

"How'd it go?" Shaw asks, taking a few cautious steps forward. Root's head whips to the side, hazy eyes focusing in on Shaw before a coy smile surfaces.

"What are you doing skipping class?" Root coos, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and stuffing her hands in the pockets of her cardigan. "I don't know if you know this, but I like a rebel." Shaw barely acknowledges the come-on, too focused on the darkness Root is trying to hide.

"What happened with McCarthy?" Shaw presses, and Root fidgets her hands, folding them over her chest. She brushes her hair back again.

"Nothing."

Shaw scoffs. "She had to say something."

"She did," Root sighs, eyes not quite meeting Shaw's. "And what she said was nothing." Shaw's brow furrows, not able to process the information.  _There's no way that Control is just letting this slide._

"There's no way that-"

Root extends her hands, draping them along Shaw's shoulders. Tilting her head in a way that never fails to make Shaw's heart rate spike, a sad smile crosses her face. "Cute, but... we'll just have to let this go." Shaw wants to say more _—_ is about to say more _—_ when Root's hands slip away, back turned to Shaw as she crosses the hall. In only a moment, she's gone, Shaw left alone with her thoughts. Her thoughts are wicked hot, rage white and blinding. She shakes her head, unable to come to terms with this.  _There's no way. I'm not about to just let this go._

**_______________\ If Your Number's Up / **_______________****

_Third period. Halfway through. Sixteen minutes until lunch._ Shaw can't help but mentally tack off the minutes as she breezes through her lesson, monotonous reading of slides unlike her usual classes. No pop quizzes, no abrupt question _—_    just slides. With each animated example of muscle fibers, Shaw can only think more and more of Root. Of what could have possibly happened with Control.

There's a knock on the door, and perhaps for the first time since Root's hiring, Shaw wants nothing more than to drop everything for the hallway. Snapping her head to the left, she's disappointed by an elderly woman escorting a small girl into the room.

"Is this Miss Shaw's Anatomy course?" the woman asks, cheery smile plastered to her face. Shaw doesn't return it.

"Yeah, why?"

"This is Genrika Zhirova. She's just transferred from the other building, and will be apart of your third period."  _The other building?_ Shaw wonders, eyes scanning Genrika's frizzy red curls and wide, bird-like eyes. She looks pathetically small against the backdrop of juniors, yet a childish smile is plastered to her face. Taking large, confident strides across the room, Genrika sticks out a hand, hiking her backpack up higher.

"You can call me Gen," she says in a tiny voice. Reproachfully, Shaw shakes it.

"Let me know if you get lost going to your next class, okay?" the woman says, voice as if she's talking to a small child instead of a high schooler.

"I won't, it's right across the hall, just after lunch," Gen responds. Her attention returns to Shaw. "Where should I sit?"

"Any free seat will work," Shaw answers, and Gen's off to a nearby desk. She turns to recommence her lesson, takes another look at the girl, then stops. "What grade are you in?"

"Nineth."

"This is a junior level course."

"Well, I'm kind of a junior." Shaw raises a brow, not in the mood for wise cracking. "I'm kind of an eighth grader, kind of a freshman, kind of a junior. I graduate next year, which makes me a junior, but it's my first year in high school, which makes me a freshman."

"So what makes you an eighth grader?" Shaw quips, met with a few stifled chuckles at the back of the room.

"That's the grade I was in, but I just tested out." Shaw turns this around in her head, wondering if there's a way to force her out. For Gen's sake and for Shaw's.

"Don't expect me to go easy on this," Shaw warns, turning back to her notes and changing the slide. Gen giggles.

"Don't worry, you won't have to. I'm pretty smart." Shaw rolls her eyes, not disbelieving the girl but not caring enough to carry on the conversation. Just as she begins to speak once more, the phone rings, and she gives it a hard look, as if somehow a glare will stop the tri-tone.

"Room 118," Shaw answers, emotionless.

"Miss Shaw," Control greets icily. "I received your complaint about Lee Fusco and Devan Reese?"

Shaw waits. Silence. "What about it?" she snaps, already more than agitated with this woman.

"I called their parents. Apparently they all know each other pretty well."

"Great, so they can hash it out at home then," Shaw retorts coolly. Her eyes scan the students, all of which stare with wide eyes, save Gen, who brandishes a toothy smile.

"Not quite. They want to meet with you at lunch to discuss the situation."

"I don't have time to meet with overprotective parents that think their kids can do no wrong," Shaw says. Her eyes drift through the door window towards Root's classroom. "I'm busy at lunch."

"Yes, you  _are_ busy at lunch," Control agrees. "Busy in the office meeting with parents." The line goes dead, and Shaw can't help but slam it back into the cradle, heat radiating. Checking the wall clock, it reads five to eleven fifty-eight.

"Class is over," Shaw tells them, snapping off the power point and logging out of her computer. Students peer at each other quizzically, whispers wondering if this is a trap. Annoyance eats at her. "You can sit here, or you can get out," she reiterates, a heavy implication on the latter. The class scrambles to their feet, papers shuffling and bags flying as they exit in a desperate rush. All except one.

"If you're staying in here, I'm still shutting out the lights," Shaw deadpans, barely giving Gen a second glance as she pushes her chair in. Gen giggles that same childish laugh, slinging her back pack over her shoulders.

"I'm coming, don't worry." Shaw definitely wasn't worried, but doesn't bother telling her so. "Do we have homework tonight?"

"Do you  _want_ homework?"

"Is that a trick question?" Shaw rolls her eyes, opening the door and holding it for Gen. Gen narrows her eyes, waiting for an answer she'll never receive. Shoulders drooping, she leaves the room with a huff, and Shaw turns out the lights.

"Why are you leaving early?"

"Not your business."

"I bet I could find out." Shaw glares at her, yet she seems unaffected by the radiating hostility in Shaw's eyes. She lets the gaze dissipate.

"And how's that?"

"I'm a spy, or at least a spy to-be." Shaw stops, turning to face Gen, who happily mirrors. "I'm really good at it, too."

"Listen, I get that you're a little kid," Shaw starts, much to Gen's indignation. "You're gonna have a big imagination. But think about the things you want to say before you say them around here. These juniors your stuck with? They're not like you."

"My grandfather used to say there's no one like me," Gen chirps, clearly missing Shaw's message. Putting her hand to her temple, Shaw starts towards Root's room, needing to let her know their lunch plans are cancelled.  _At least being in Control's office will give me a chance to ring her over whatever the hell she told Root today_.

"Where are we going?" Gen asks, and Shaw scoffs

" _I'm_  going here, and  _you_ are going anywhere else."

"Ooh, this is my next period class. You know the teacher, right? Maybe you can introduce me, I love making a good first impression..." Shaw drowns her out, swinging open the classroom door and scanning over the ring of students typing away at their computers, headphones glued to their ears. From the corner of her eye, she sees Gen's mouth moving a million miles a minute, but doesn't quite bother to string the sounds into coherent sentences.

"Hey, Sweetie," Root greets, standing from her place behind the counter and giving Shaw a wink. She leans her hip against the counter, hair spilling over her shoulders, and Shaw's ears warm.

"You really want to get in trouble with Control over pet names now?" Shaw remarks, countenance far more collected than she feels. Root rolls her eyes, pushing from the counter and taking another few steps closer. With each inch of distance erased between them, Shaw's heart trills faster.

"None of them can hear," Root teases.

"I can hear," Gen interrupts, popping out from behind Shaw and sticking out a hand. "Genrika Zhirova, but you can call me Gen." Root's smile widens in surprise, holding back a laugh as she has to perch down to shake Gen's hand. "I'm in your next class."

Root's eyes flicker to Shaw and back. "Well, it's very nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too. Miss Shaw and I were just talking and I-" she's off again, a jumble of words flying furiously from her mouth, and Shaw has to cap her at the two minute mark. Giving her shoulder a tap, Gen whips around, eyes wide.

"I came here because I needed to talk to her," Shaw says.

"Well you can talk too, I'm just trying to strike a conversation." Root smirks at Shaw over Gen's head, and Shaw works to keep the annoyance at bay.

"Privately."

"Oh."

Silence.

"There's an open chair in the corner if you want to get yourself logged in," Root offers, pointing to a desk on the far side of the room. "The computers can take awhile, so if you get started now, it should be done registering your information by the time lunch is through."

Gen nods vigorously, dashing to the computer. Root watches her go, waiting until she's out of earshot, then cracks a toothy grin.

"Looks like you have a new best friend," she laughs.

"Oh, please," Shaw grumbles in response, leaning against the white board with arms crossed. She looks Root over. Light gray blouse, tan slacks, and black fingernail polish. Her cardigan rests just off of one shoulder, and her hair almost fills in the gap between where the sleeve starts and the blouse ends.

"See something you like?" Root asks, smug smirk sinister. Shaw gives one of her quick smiles.

"What do you think?" she replies, loving the way Root's cheeks flush.

"You had something to tell me?" she prompts, unable to mask the adoration in her voice. Shaw sighs.

"Control needs me at lunch. Broke up a fight after first bell and the parents want to talk."

"Well, what will I  _ever_ do without you here?" Root jokes, leaning in towards Shaw and scrunching her nose with humor. Shaw peers into her coffee brown eyes, nearly lost in them, until her gaze shifts to a point just past Root. She feels a smirk tug at her cheeks.

"I think you've got a new best friend in the back corner that would love to talk."

****_______________**  \ We'll Find You /  **_______________****

Shaw's eyes scan over the man sitting directly across from her, picking him apart. Tall guy in a suit. No tie. Eyes electric blue and frigid. Sharp jaw line with a faint five o'clock shadow on the rise. Salt and pepper hair.  _John Reese._

Her gaze drifts right. Woman, dark hair pulled back tight, onyx eyes and a police uniform. Lips pressed together firmly, brow cocked and an attitude that says she's ready to raise the dead.  _Joss Reese._

Her gaze drifts further still. Curly hair, almost red in the light. Broad features, square facial structure, deep set eyes. Everything about his demeanor seems hardened. His arms are crossed, police uniform matching Mrs. Reese's.  _Lionel Fusco._

The office door opens, and all three parents turn in their seats as their children slink along behind Control. She wears an amiable smile _—_  nothing ever seeming to break through her facade when parents are involved _—_  yet Shaw knows the true anger lying in wait just below the surface. The boys flop down on two soft chairs tucked in the corner of the room, while Control rounds the desk, taking a seat beside Shaw. Shaw bristles, never on pleasant terms with the principal on a good day, and certainly not now.

"Thank you for meeting with us," Control greets, the parents' attention snapping back to her. "It has come to our attention that there is an anger issue between your sons. A fight, this morning, in fact. Miss Shaw _—_  " their eyes slide to her robotically _—_  "got between the two, but apparently Lee spat in her hair after the fact." Lionel whips around, eyes like daggers directed at his son.

"I wasn't aiming for her," Lee protests. "I was aiming for the asshole to my left."

"Hey!" Lionel snarls. "Watch your language."

"If Lee's the one who did that, why is our son here?" John asks, countenance cool and collected.

"Your son is the one who initiated the incident."

"No,  _Lee_ is the one who started it," Devan retorts.

"How am _I_  the one who started it?"

"By being a total dick and a perv!"

"If you weren't such a hard ass, we wouldn't even be here!"

"Boys, boys," Joss interjects with an unspoken authority that immediately intrigues Shaw. She watches her, jaw tight, finger pointed menacingly, and tone even. "There is no need to talk like that. Tell us what happened." Both open their mouths, but with a single tilt of her finger, they shut them tight. "One at a time." Shaw's eyes widen microscopically, a seed of respect planted for the detective. The two look at each other, then Devan clears his throat.

"Lee's hitting on Harper. It's super weird." Everyone waits, expecting something more. Joss coughs.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean,  _'that's it'_?" Devan scoffs. "She's my little sister _—_  your daughter _—_  and you don't even  _care_?"

"Of course I care," Joss snaps, "but it's not worth fighting over."

"Told you, you were overreacting," Lee mutters, met by Devan's killer stare.

"Dude, we're juniors. She's a freshman.  _And_ my sister! Don't you think that's so gross?"

"It's not like I'm a creep," Lee shoots back. Lionel bursts.

"You're telling me that I came down here on my break because you chuckle heads got into a fist fight over a girl? And then you spit at your teacher? Where the hell are your manners?" Lee looks to his hands, cheeks scarlet and ears on their way to match. Shaw sits back in her chair, trying to suppress a grin.  _And here, I thought they would be yelling at me._

"I don't care how you deal with this, but I don't want to hear another complaint from this school, understand?" Lionel demands. Slowly, Lee nods. Devan smirks.

"That goes for you too," John adds, their icy blue eyes locking for a moment before Devan utters a defeated, 'yes, sir.'

Control stands, shaking each parents' hand in turn. "Thank you for meeting with us. As you know, we do have a policy for reprimanding fights, which will include detention for both boys; however, I don't think this needs to go any further than that." The trio thank her, giving Shaw a discrete nod on the way out. Devan and Lee follow, bickering under their breaths to keep their parents from overhearing.

Checking her watch, Control starts towards her office door.

"Shut it," Shaw orders, eyes dead-set on Control and voice unwavering. Control gives her a bewildered stare, then barks in laughter.

"I have somewhere to be."

"You wanted to take my time for lunch; now, I'm taking yours. Shut the door, Elaine." Eyes narrowing and fingers digging into the door frame, Control reluctantly slams the door. Returning to her desk, she takes a seat.

" _What_."

"We need to talk about Root." Scoffing, Control shakes her head.

"I already told her everything there is to know."

"Well now you can tell me." Control smiles that blood curdling grin. Shaw doesn't flinch.

"I don't think that's any of your concern," Control seethes, leaning into Shaw, knuckles white on her desk.

"She told you what Wicker did, right? And you're just going to let that go?"

"There's no evidence," she exclaims, eyes wide in disbelief. "How do you expect me to file a report when there's nothing to file? No surveillance footage, no witnesses... do you expect me to pull a judicial miracle out of my ass?"

Shaw's temper flares, neutral facade quickly crackling away. "You have to do _—_ "

"Do what?" Control interjects, voice raising an octave. "The guy's tenured. I've worked with him for eighteen years. Is he a creep? Sure. A dick? Definitely, but his word against a teacher who hasn't even been here a  _semester_? I don't think I have to lay it out for you."

Shaw gets the picture, but refuses to see it. She crosses her arms, knowing if she doesn't keep them contained something bad is going to happen.

"Listen," Control sighs. "She's a good teacher. The kids love her. But going through with this? On what she has? It'll ruin her career here, and anywhere else she applies. And for what? For someone to tell her exactly what I said: Move on."

"Move on?" Shaw retorts, rage seeping through until her eyes see red. "Just leave Wicker to do whatever the hell he wants every day? Here? With her?"

Control stands, clearly done with the situation. Straightening her jacket, she looks down at Shaw the way an angered parent glares at an unruly child. "I know what I'm talking about. I know from experience. Sometimes... your future means more than what happens in this moment. You just have to move on. So unless you having some damning evidence or can get some, it's about time you leave my office."

Her already steaming top blows. "Get evidence?" Shaw demands, voice pitchy. "You want me to suggest putting Root back in a bad situation for _evidence_? You're insane."

"I never told you to do that, I just gave you the ultimatum," Control shoots back, yanking open the door. "So what'll it be?"

******_______________**  **\ Call it Chemistry /  ** **_______________******

Root paces back and forth in the school parking lot, mottled patches of shade from the looming trees bathing her in streaks of warmth and cold. She tugs her cardigan tighter around her arms, the late October air beginning to bite. Her eyes scan the crowds of students that flood from the building, catching buses or hopping into cars. Staff members bleed through the throng of teenagers, all just as desperate for escape as them.

She looks for him, not wanting another confrontation. Just seeing him in the halls, the way his eyes pry at her, undressing her in a flash _—_  it's nerve wracking, unsettling, upsetting _—_  there isn't a word that quite describes the feeling. The feeling she'd been hiding from the rest of the school, from Shaw... from herself. That constant edge that he could be around the corner, the unnerving dread that he could pop into her prep period any day, and she has no way of predicting. Or escaping. Or coping.

The line rings in her ear as she cradles her cellphone against her shoulder, arms folded tight.  _C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..._

"Miss Groves?" Harold greets, and the tension coiled in Root's muscles begins to unwind.

"Hi, Harry," she coos, feeling his exasperation from here. "You rang?"

"Just checking in. I wanted to know how things have been since..."

"They're okay," she answers, peering down at her heels. She hopes he buys it.

"I don't think that's true," he responds, voice gentle. "What did the principal say?"

"That it's a lost cause," she replies, voice almost cracking at the words. For some reason, saying it aloud makes it more real.  _I feel like an idiot_ , she hisses to herself.  _This whole thing is just so..._

"I don't agree with her," he says quickly, sensing her hurt. "You have every reason to be upset by this."

"But maybe I'm just... blowing it out of the water, you know? Making something out of nothing."

"This isn't nothing," he assures her, and some of her self-doubt washes away. "But if no one's willing to work on this, my offer still stands."

The offer. Big firm in a high rise, an entire coastline away. All computers, all day. Harold and Root, taking the world by storm, one software development at a time. It was a short-lived dream, Finch always wanting the world, which was something Root wasn't entirely interested in. Teaching? Teaching she liked. It's her own way of changing the world.

"I know I'd have to ask upper management about it, but I can vouch for you, and they would love your skill set. You're gifted. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?" she asks, curiosity spiking enough to take her mind away from the Wicker situation for the first time in days.

"Otherwise, Grace and I are working on a company. It's not off the ground yet, but it's getting there. It's all the things we talked about. Software development, you and me. Grace is already copyrighting some logos she made, you should really see them..." he gives pause, letting the words sink in. "You're not interested, are you?"

"I don't know, it's tempting and all, but... I like what I have here.  _Who_  I have here."

"You don't think Sameen would come with you?" he asks, and she shrugs. Peering back towards the school once more, she sees Shaw headed her way, storm clouds brewing.

"I don't want to put her in that position," she answers quickly. "And I like teaching. I gotta go, okay?"

"Check in, maybe call after five one day and I can put Grace on."

"Sounds like a plan," she agrees, ending the call as Shaw comes to a stop before her.

"Anyone good?" Shaw asks, emotions locked away behind sparkling eyes, but Root can feel an irritation radiating.

"Harry, offering me a job out with him."

"You gonna take it?" she asks, and Root's heart jolts.  _If ever a time to bring it up_ , Root thinks, pondering whether she wants to know Shaw's response. She takes a breath.

"Would you want me to?" Shaw looks at her, same eyes locked away, stunning face never revealing anything easily. Shaw blinks once, twice, and Root can almost swear a flicker of something surfaced.

Shaw shrugs. "Whatever you want to do," she answers, a vague response not divulging her feelings on the subject.  _If she has any_. Brushing a strand of hair back from her face, Root closes her eyes. When they open, she pushes the decision-making away.

"Halloween tomorrow," Root says, bubbly tone returning as her eyes ignite. "Dressing up?"

"Yeah," Shaw cracks. "I'm thinking high school anatomy teacher."

"The costume better be impressive," Root warns, leaning in close to Shaw. "Because the anatomy teacher I work with is  _very_ good looking." Shaw rolls her eyes, brushing past Root as she starts towards her car.

"What about you?" Shaw returns, and Root smiles.

"Anatomy teacher's girlfriend."

"Unoriginal," Shaw deadpans, but a smile glints in her eyes.

"I don't know," Root trills, wrapping an arm around Shaw's shoulders, "I think I could pull it off pretty well." Shaw looks her over, eyes swirling deviously, and electricity crackles through Root's system, kick-starting her heart.

"I'll be the judge of that."

********_______________******  \ It’s All in the Chemistry /  ** ** **_______________********

The idea of Root leaving had plagued Shaw all night. She hadn't slept well, a mix between the news and Control's dismissal of the situation. Her answer wasn't much _—_  how could she tell Root to stay knowing that there's nothing that can be done about Wicker?  _Maybe a new start would be better,_  she thought, envisioning a hall without Root.  _Better for her, at least_.

Especially after first period. Being Root's prep class, it's not uncommon for Root to drop by every once in a while, but Shaw _—_  the Wicked Witch of the West Wing, as she was being crowned _—_  had an exam scheduled for the day.

Sitting at her desk, rifling through the hefty exam packets, her eyes caught a flash of plaid. Peering up, she saw Root's door shut. A dreadful ache settled deep in her gut. Shaw barked at the class to study, then dashed across the hall. Peering in through the window, Shaw found Wicker inspecting one of the computers. His mouth was moving, but she couldn't make out the words. Darting back across the hall to bark yet another order at her class, she returned to Root's room and threw open the door.

Wicker was closer than before, every pore oozing malice intent as he leaned his elbow against Root's counter-top.  Upon hearing the door open, he turned his head. Recognizing Shaw, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't you have a class 'round this time?" he asked, southern draw thick with accusation.

"Yeah," Shaw responded, kicking the door wide. Slowly, her students trickled in with uncertainty. "Find a seat," she told them, "anywhere you want."

Wicker canvassed the room, filled to the brim with students, and pushed off of the counter. "What is your class doin' usin' computer lab equipment?" he pried. Root's eyes darted from Wicker to Shaw, curious herself yet grateful.

"Root offered to show them anatomical models on the computers during her off period," Shaw replied with a casual shrug, though her words were dangerous. "Thought it would be an interesting lesson." Wicker stared at her a moment more, eyes searing and skin simmering, then gave a resigned sigh.

"We'll talk later," he said to Root, his words verging on a command before excusing himself from the room. It wasn't until the door shut that Root let out a breath.

_I can't have this happening every day_ , Shaw thinks to herself as her third period class strolls in.  _Root shouldn't have this happen everyday._

"I heard period one didn't have the test," Devan says, not bothering to butter her up before asking, "so does that mean  _we_ don't have the test?"

"Last time I checked," Shaw responds, handing him a hefty packet, "you aren't first period." Groaning, he retreats to his desk. The door swings open, thin green fingers wrapping around the door, only to disappear almost immediately. Shaw's brow furrows as she continues to hand out the packets, keeping an ear open for anything unusual. The door opens again, and a burst of sound breaks through.

"Go back to kindergarten, freak!" It's a voice she's never heard, but takes the jab to mean only one thing. Splaying the rest of the packets atop her desk before striding to the door, she sees a small, green figure with frizzy auburn hair being shoved within a tight circle. Shaw’s fingers curl into tight fists, jaw locking. Why the fights always seemed to break out in front of her room, she'll never know, but at least it gives her the chance to stop them.

Throwing open the door, mouth opening wide with the beginning of a detention threat on her tongue, a different voice beats her to the punch.

"Why don't you leave her alone, Frankie? Pick on someone who  _isn't_ half your size?"

"Oh, please, Fusco," Frankie spits, shoving Gen across the circle to one of his buddies. "What do you care about the green goblin for?"

"I'm  _Gamora_ ," she shouts back, though it doesn't quite matter what she says at this point. Lee steps into the circle, grabbing Gen by the shoulders before another hooting jock has a shot at her. Then, turning to Frankie, he locks him in a stare.

"Really think that scares me, Fusco?" Frankie coos, shoving at Lee's chest. Lee stumbles, balances, swings.

The impact is cacophonous, silencing the entire hall. Frankie's eyes bulge, rage making his face crazed. He straightens, murder in his eyes, ready to start a brawl.

"I'm starting to get sick of these cage matches outside my door," Shaw says bluntly, leaning on her door frame. Immediately, the crowd disperses. Frankie balls Lee's shirt up in his fist, drawing him in. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," Shaw warns, flicking her eyes to the camera nestled in the corner ceiling panel.

With a grunt, Frankie shoves him away, stalking down the hall. Lee hits the lockers hard, hand darting to the back of his head with a wince. Gen instantly scrambles to Lee's side, worry creasing her brow. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you think you have a concussion?"

"I'm alright, kid," he groans, and Shaw can tell this isn't quite true.

"Let's get you to the nurse," Shaw mutters, taking his upper arm and helping him along the hall. 

"Am I gonna get expelled?" he asks. "This is the second fight in a week."

"I think we can find a work around," Shaw says.

"I have all the evidence," Gen adds, trailing behind. She fumbles with her shirt, pulling out a mic, a wire, and a recording device. Pressing a button, the incident plays out. Shaw takes it from her, looking over the instrument with interest. Something clicks.

"You got more stuff like this?" she asks, pushing open the door to the nurse's office.

"A whole bunch. I have most of it in my backpack."

"What happened this time?" the nurse sighs, rounding her desk and taking over for Shaw.

"I got into a-"

"He was helping her out," Shaw interjects, handing the nurse Gen's recording equipment. “Listen to this before you file anything against him." The nurse gives a wary look at the recording device, wrapping the microphone cord around it gingerly. She gives Lee a nod before heading out, Gen bouncing along at her side.

"Why do you wanna know what I have?"

Shaw takes a deep breath, not believing the words about to leave her mouth. "I'm going to need your help." Gen begins to bounce with excitement. Tossing her bag down, she begins rummaging through, pulling out odd contraptions, headphones, and a small laptop.

"Do you think this will be enough?" she asks, fingers dancing over her equipment in excitement. Shaw gives a cunning smile.

"I think it's plenty."

********_______________******  \ Person of Interest /  ** ** **_______________********

Slipping into the teacher's break room as the eighth period bell rings, Shaw grabs a pot of coffee, pouring the steaming hot brew into her mug. Takes a sip. Waits. The wall clock tick, tick, ticks with each second, and Shaw's patience begins to grow thin. Yet beyond the annoyance, an exhilarating rush trickles into her veins like a morphine drip. Something about this is riveting.  _Maybe I should've been a CIA agent or something_ , Shaw cracks to herself. She takes another sip, letting the coffee burn all the way down.

The door opens.

"Isn't there another break room closa' ta your room?" Wicker asks, sauntering through the break room to a microwave on the far side. Dumping out the contents of a brown paper bag, he sets the timer.

"That room doesn't have what I'm looking for," Shaw replies slowly, fingers curling tighter around the handle of her mug.

"No?" he asks with a chuckle. "And what exactly is that?"

"You, actually." His eyes dart to her, lip twitching into the hint of a sneer. "I need to talk to you."

"I don't want any parts of that," he assures her, verging hostile and ripping the microwave open with three minutes still on the clock. Shaw can feel the fine threads of her self control snapping one by one.

"Just like Root didn't want any parts of you, right?" she remarks casually, relishing the flames that leap to his eyes. "But I guess you didn't see it that way."

"Look, lady, I get she's your  _friend_ , and I'm sure she's told you some things. But it's  _her_  word against  _mine_." The tension between them is electric _—_  one wrong move away from a power surge.

"So, you're saying you didn't grab her in that conference room?" Shaw presses, taking a step in his direction. Her free hand wraps around the base of her mug, and she wants more than anything to douse him with the scorching contents.

"I didn't do anything she didn't want," he retorts, and Shaw's hand clenches the mug, nearly shattering it under her grip. Her teeth grind, eyes like hot coals sinking directly into his skin. He diverts his gaze, unable to handle her intense stare.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" she asks. Slowly. Softly. Deadly.

"It means with the way she acts, and the way she dresses?" he scoffs, picking a plastic fork out of a nearby bin. "I guarantee you, that one's looking for a good time. Just likes playin' hard to get. Some women are like that."

She's ready to kill him. Right here, right now, with whatever she can get her hands on. Her hands might even do just fine at this point. Shaking her head tightly, trying to keep so much as an ounce of her composure, she presses the subject further.  _I need him to say it,_ she thinks _. Not that murder wouldn't solve my problem,_ she adds with little afterthought.

"You've got a seriously twisted concept of women, if that's what you think."

He laughs. A barely concealed chortle as he shovels a mouthful of pasta from his plate.

"That really what you think? Listen, honey _—_ "

"Don't call me honey."

"Listen, honey, Root's not like most of the other teachers around here. No offense to you, but you're not the one every man in this wing's thinking about. I just did what no one else had the balls to do."

_That's it_ , Shaw thinks, victory flooding in like a tidal wave. It's enough to make her shake, if the liquid-rage pumping through her veins wasn't doing that already.  _We've got him_.

"You're a real pig, Wicker," Shaw growls, rounding the table and stopping just before him. She's at least a foot smaller, yet she can see the unease in his eyes. "And you're going to stay away from Root, or I'll cut those so called 'balls' of yours clean off."

With one last glowering glare, Shaw shoves the mug into Wicker's hands. Some of the coffee splashes over, hitting his hand and he swears, dropping the mug with an earsplitting crash. Already to the door, Shaw allows herself a victorious smirk.

Waiting until the door clicks shut behind her, Shaw leans against the wall, head resting against the cold concrete. She lets it roll, eyes downcast to the small, green Gen sitting cross-legged a few feet off.

"You get any of that?" Shaw asks, and Gen removes her headphones with a devilish grin.

"All of it."

"Sorry about the language, but you're _—_  what _—_  a freshman-junior? You can handle it?" Gen giggles, pushing off the of the ground and closing her laptop.

"Trust me, Miss Shaw, I've heard much worse." Rolling her eyes, Shaw gives Gen's shoulder a light squeeze, and the two begin their trip to the office.

"You know," Gen says, hopping along with an extra bounce in her step. "I've never skipped a class before."

"Well don't do it again," Shaw warns. "On any other day, I would've given you detention."

"If you caught me, that is," she points out deviously. "I've been training to be a spy for years. I think I'd know how to avoid a teacher in the hallway."

********_______________******  \ mother-finch fiction /  ** ** **_______________********

Putting the headphones down on her desk, Control looks between Shaw and Gen. Her eyes are icy and cold _—_  nothing new _—_  but after a long stare, the ice melts. A sharp smile crawls along her features. It’s an expression Shaw doesn't think she's even seen Control wear before.

"I'm going to have to keep this," Control says, mostly to Gen. "You can't have high grade spy gear in high school." Gen's face drops, her eyes glued to the little computer and headset.

"My grandfather gave me those," she pleas, a tremor in her words. "I  _have_ to have them back."

"Can't you just make a copy of the recording?" Shaw asks, and Control cocks a brow. "Put it on a USB drive or something?" Staring between the two again, Control resignedly sighs.

"Fine," she says, met with a victory hoot from Gen. "But no more bringing it to school."

"You got it," Gen agrees, reaching her hands out for the device. Control draws it back.

"You can have it back on Monday." Shoulders slumping, Gen nods her head, getting up from her seat and sulking through the door. Shaw watches her go, waiting until she rounds the corner.

"You didn't have to be so harsh on her," Shaw remarks, met by Control's cynical laughter.

"After what she did _—_  assuming she did only  _happen_  to stumble upon the two of you  _talking _—_  _ I'd say it's a fair trade." Shaw shrugs, taking her win where she can and getting up to leave.

"Shaw?" Control calls, and Shaw stops in the doorway. Turning, she finds another quaint smile on Control's lips. Shaw raises a brow. "You did it."

Shaw returns her smile with a nod. "Anything else?"

She shakes her head. "Wicker will be out of here by Monday. You're going to need a court hearing guaranteed, but there's not much else."

Feeling the triumph rising and spreading through her veins, Shaw walks briskly through the office corridor, not wanting Control to see anything beyond her calm demeanor. Hooking a swift left, she runs head long into Root, knocking a stack of papers from her hand.

Root barely seems to notice, giving Shaw a quizzical stare. When Shaw starts to bend down, Root grabs her shoulders, pulling her away from the scattered pages. Shaw looks at her, waiting.

"What has  _you_ in such a good mood?" Root asks, grin in her words as she brushes her thumbs along Shaw's shoulders. "I don't think I've ever seen you smile like this at work." Registering what Root means, Shaw's face drops back to neutral, and Root lets out a melodic laugh. "That didn't mean  _stop_ ," she teases.

Shaw slips from her grasp, beginning to collect the papers. A moment later, Root's hands mingle with hers, scooping pages into her arms. "Really, Sam, what's the occasion?" Standing, they begin back down the hall, ready to enjoy the weekend as the final bell rings.

"Let's just say Wicker won't be returning any time soon." Root stops, hand outstretched to Shaw's forearm and stopping her mid-stride. Wiggling free, Shaw takes her hand and pulls her along.

"How did you manage that?" Root asks, a smile that makes Shaw's heart pound poking through.

Escaping the office into the hall, Shaw smirks, eyes set on a large set of curls. "Help from a friend." Following Shaw's eye line, Root  finds Gen standing alongside Devan, Lee and Harper. Harper is between chatting amiably with Gen _—_  nearly out-rambling her _—_  and worrying over Lee's newest injury. Devan says something to Lee, gesturing to Gen, and claps him on the back. Harper reaches for Lee's hand, swinging it back and forth while never breaking a beat in her long-winded conversation with Gen. Peering over her shoulder, Gen sees Shaw, and gives a quick wave.

Shaw returns it.

"What the hell do you mean, fired?!" Wicker's voice bellows from somewhere down the hall. "There's no way you can get rid of  _me_! I'm  _tenured_!"

Unable to suppress the smile once more, Shaw loops her arm around Root's waist with a squeeze. Walking out to the car, Shaw feels the bounce in Root's step, as if a weight has been lifted.

"Have you been thinking about Harold's offer?" Shaw asks as Root unlocks her car door.

"You mean the software position?"

Shaw nods. Root gives her a one over, smirk tugging at the corner of mouth.

"I don't think it's for me," she answers, pulling open her car door and sliding in.

"But aren't you perfect for them?" Shaw questions, leaning through the open window of Root's car. Root's smirk grows.

"There are things I care about here."

"You care about grading papers and moody teenagers  _that_ much?" Shaw quips, rewarded with an eye roll. Root chuckles, then bites her bottom lip.

"I meant you."

Shaw's heart begins to flutter in her chest, heat spreading from her neck to cheeks to ears. Looking at Root, the sly tilt to her head, the lopsided grin and vibrant eyes, she can't help the warmth from taking over. Leaning through the window, Shaw presses her lips to Root’s, hand running through her hair and brushing against the headrest. Root's mouth parts, welcoming her in, but after what seems like far too much time to be intimate in a high school parking lot, Shaw draws back. She keeps her face close, Root's quick breaths warm against her skin.

Hearing the chatter of students near by, Shaw pulls her head from the car, shooting a death glare to a group of giggling seniors a few spots over. She recognizes some of their faces from her previous years' anatomy class, yet _—_  no authority outside of the school day _—_  the students are barely affected by the stare. With a sigh, Shaw turns back to Root, deciding to ignore, or rather spare, them.  _It's been a good day,_  Shaw thinks to herself, falling victim to the glimmer in Root's eyes that mirror a galaxy of stars.  _There's no need to let a couple of kids get under my skin._

"We meeting up some time later tonight?" Root asks, looking Shaw over as she starts the car. "Considering our costumes, a costume party could be arranged." Thinking it over, Shaw shakes her head, and some of the fire in Root's eyes dims.

"I'm coming along now."

"Now?" Root echoes, eyes full blaze once again. "What about your car?"

"We can get it tomorrow."

"Quite the impromptu decision to spend the night," Root coos, draping her arm over the door frame with a flirtatious smirk.

"I know," Shaw replies, "so don't give me any time to change my mind. I'm sure I have something to change into there."

"Who says you have to change  _into_ anything?" Root quips back, eyes swirling with a seductive darkness that makes butterflies stir in Shaw's chest. She pushes it down, forcing a cool composure despite the feeling.

"I changed my mind," Shaw cracks. "I'm going home." Beginning to pull away from the window, she's stopped only by Root's hand dancing up her shoulder and wrapping around the back of her neck. She draws Shaw in for another kiss, this one lingering far longer than the first. _And I thought I was pushing it_ , Shaw thinks amiably, but doesn't bother pulling away.

After time that stretches into what Shaw would definitely consider new record territory, they pull apart, breathing fast. Root's nose brushes against Shaw's, eyes flickering over Shaw as a toothy grin grows on her features. Root's fingers slowly fall from Shaw's neck, as if contemplating if she should let Shaw go at all.

Rolling her eyes with a microscopic smile of her own, Shaw pulls away, rounding the hood of the car and slipping into the passenger seat. Root puts it in reverse as the last bus chugs out of the campus grounds.

"So, what's the plan?" Root asks, dropping her right hand from the wheel and sliding it into Shaw's. Shaw wraps her fingers gently around Root's, peering through the rear view mirror.

"I've got five classes' worth of exams to grade, and a week's worth of homework to grade for six."

"Sounds like it could take all night," Root says melodically, more than evident that grading papers is not on Root's agenda for the rest of the evening. _Not that I mind,_ Shaw thinks, glancing over to Root. To her smile, to her super nova eyes, to her... everything. Every breathtaking quality.

"All night?" Shaw muses, running circles with her thumb along Root's knuckles. "I think you might be right."

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! It’s been such a freaking long time since I’ve written one of these, and I really hope that you guys like it! As I’d mentioned previously, for the time being, I won’t really be as active as I used to be (I think I used to post anywhere between two and five fanfics a week?) and I mentioned jumping around the inbox. I actually wrote this one because I got kudos for part 2 on AO3, and someone had asked if there could be characters like Gen, John, and Fusco, and if there could be some closure with Wicker. Seeing that there was a prompt in tumblr as well, I just decided I’d mix the two.
> 
> I hope no one minds that my first fic back is a continuation of an old au. There are so many that I’ve still wanted to write, but, alas, where is the time? I’m not sure what or when the next one will be, but I really do hope that you enjoy this one. Thank you for submitting the request to me, I’m such a sucker for the teacher!RootxShaw stuff.
> 
> Thanks again for the prompt, and for everyone here that’s bearing with me and my less than scheduled appearances back on this page. I know I sound like a broken record by saying I miss this fandom, but it’s true. I’m constantly telling my friends how much I miss POI and the people here.
> 
> I hope you’re all doing well!!!!
> 
> Currently, I would say the inbox of prompts is semi-closed? People are always sending me requests, and I’ll never turn down a prompt, but with that being said, I might not get to it.
> 
> Alright, well, that’s my long-winded rant and overdue hello. Let me know what you think!


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